How To Be Popular II
by C.ompassionate Revol.utions
Summary: I know, unoriginal title. My sequel to How To Be Popular by Meg Cabot, where Steph faces more problems.
1. Chapter 1

The cookies were going to get burnt. I knew it. I broke into a run, and switched off the oven. It was swelteringly hot in the café kitchen, but hey, at least I could burn off some calories.

Or maybe you had to exercise to do that.

Anyhow, I had to get those damned cookies out of the damned kitchen before the damned customers complained.

Correction; before Lauren Moffat complained.

Since we'd bulldozed through the wall of the Hoosier Sweet Shoppe, We'd had a lot more customers. Unfortunately, after the whole Coffee Pot incident, though she wasn't as popular as before, without her devoted posse, she still wanted to make my life hell. So, she visited the shop daily, and ordered, just to keep me on my toes. Oh, and to tell me how large my butt looked in my capris. Need I remind her of the size of her legs in those sheer thigh-highs?

Turning my attention to the burnt cookies, I bit my lip and started scraping off the black stuff. No success. I threw the lot in the bin, and ran out the back door, in my apron, to buy some cookies from the Super Sav-Mart. Yeah; Mum was going to kill me, but whatever. I was desperate.

People were shooting glances at me, but for once, I ignored them. I grabbed a family-sized pack of cookies, and paid the cashier woman. She glanced at my apron, smirked, but didn't say anything. I glared at her, and darted back into the kitchen.

I was sure I'd just lost a few pounds.

Swearing, I chucked the packet in the microwave, and pulled them out thirty seconds later, and piled them on a plate. Well, some of them. Lauren had only ordered five, because of her superficial cheerleader's diet. Oh heck. Typical.

"Steph! You're such…a Steph! Get your ass over here; I've got an appointment at the manicurist's!" she shrieked. Rolling my eyes, I walked outside, and dumped the plate on her table.

Darren glanced at me, eyebrow's raised. He mouthed, "Heck, what a drama queen."

I mouthed back, "As usual," and stomped back into the kitchen.

I wasn't happy.

Of all the people, Mum made ME, be the one stuck in the kitchen, making cookies, cake, and beverages. Yeah, I could make coffee. Easy. And tea was fine too. Just chuck a Lipton in some water. Cake? Yeah, cake mix.

COOKIES?

Hell no. Firstly, my batter was half demented. And there was no recipe to tell me how long to bake them for, so they were either half raw, or burnt.

And Mum refused to allow me to buy a recipe book from the Super Sav-Mart. Which kind of sucked.

Darren walked in, with a sympathetic look on his face.

"Yo. Lauren just left. I reckon you should change your shift time, she knows when you come now. Anyway, pretty quiet out, it's boiling, so go home. You look like you need a rest," he offered.

"Hello, I'm the one who owns this place. Well, nearly. But you know what I mean. You should be the one going," I laughed.

"Nah, it's fine, I'm meant to be here, I get paid. You don't. So leave," he said, shooing me out the back door.

"Oh fine, thanks, you're a darling!" I chirped, in a Lauren voice.

He chuckled, and handed me my bag.

"Like, totally!" he replied, and closed the door.

I took off my apron, and hung it in the back shed, then walked home, exhausted.


	2. Chapter 2

Note to self, don't talk to Jason in the bathroom. Even though I was, sitting on the windowsill, phone in hand, Bazooka Joe binoculars in the other, spying at him. He was doing chin-ups, unfortunately dressed. But he knew better than to undress without blinds; and Kitty had taken them down to wash. 

"I'm going down to the lake later. Coming?" he continued, panting softly, but if I wasn't spying – no, looking at him, then I wouldn't have guessed he'd been doing chin-ups.

"Yeah, but I'm beat. What time?"

"Does five sound good?"

I groaned. "No. That leaves me…twenty minutes to relax."

"We are going to relax. Aren't we?" he objected. In fact, I knew we'd be too busy making out to be relaxing, so I didn't reply to _that_ question.

"Fine, fine. I'm coming. Get off the phone, and continue with your chin-ups, you look ridiculous."

I heard the springs on his bed jump as he leapt up and ran to the window.

"Not again," he laughed, sticking his world map over the glass.

I put down my binoculars, and walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom.

"What? Go get some replacement blinds or something. I'm out, I need to go shower. And change. And sleep," I said.

"God. Girls. Go and get it done, I'll bring The B over at 5, ok?" he chuckled, and hung up before I could yell at him.

Not that I would have. Well, maybe. Today was not my lucky day, obviously.

I pulled out the dark-rinse stretch jeans, the ones Jason had complimented me on the day after I accepted a ride in Lauren Moffat's 645ci, a pale blue sleeveless blouse, my favourite colour, some undergarments, and a hairbrush, then jogged back into the bathroom. I made sure I closed the blinds, and locked the door, then showered.

I came out ten minutes later, my hair curlier than ever. I dragged a hairbrush through it, wincing, as I pulled it out.

I heard a beep, and swore. I had, literally no shoes to wear. My choice was limited – sneakers, which didn't really go with my top, or some gold wedges. I went for the wedges, and shoved a few bandaids in my purse for blisters, which I knew I would get. Besides, the slight heel made me seem a tiny bit slimmer. Not that it was noticeable.

Another beep sounded, and with one last glance at my unruly head, I raced downstairs before Pete opened the door. After all, the last thing I wanted was more bullshit from my brother.

Bad luck.

"Jason! Are you here to pick up Steph?" he crowed, and bellowed, "STEPH!"

"Coming!" I shouted irritably, landing on the bottom step with a thud and stumbling towards the door.

Pete shot me a look that clear said, 'Aha!', and backed away.

"Mate, you should take ME to the lake. And let me have a go," he hinted no-so-subtly, and closed the door in our faces.

"Sorry about that," I apologised, and leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Yeah, he was still growing. And I wasn't.

"It's ok," he laughed, and opened the door. "In," he ordered.

Yeah, dead romantic.

"Thanks."

"Eww!" Pete screamed out his window, scoring two glares and a finger. From Jason, of course. I wouldn't do such a thing. Though, today, I was in such a bad mood, maybe I would have.

Jason slammed the door shut, and got in at the other side. We smiled at one another, and he started the engine. I screwed up my nose at the music, but leaned back anyway.

As we drove, we talked about the wedding, and John (Stuckey) and Becca's new relationship.

"It was weird, though, I never thought Stuckey had a first name," I commented.

"I knew, I mean, but I never called him John. It's just a retarded name."

"Jason," I reproached. He shrugged, chuckling. We passed Lauren Moffat's 645ci, where she revved up her engine to speed past us. Fortunately, Jason squeezed in before her, and she slammed on the brakes, no doubt muttering curses about us. With new energy coming from my passionate hating of Lauren, I told him about work today. "She just keeps being so impossible! And I can't do anything about it! Heck, it was so damn pathetic."

"Make a sign. Saying she's banned, or something. Or just don't work there."

"I need my wages, Jason," I sighed, rapping my fingers on my seat. He shrugged again, and pulled into a parking spot.

"Come on, Steph," he said, opening his door. I opened mine, and stepped outside. He grimaced, and gestured at the front of the car. "Want to sit here?"

I sat, and looked out at the lake. Mark was kicking a football around with his friends, who, I noted with some satisfaction, weren't all that hot about being with him anymore. Darlene saw us, and waved. I waved back. A few days ago, we'd gone shopping together, and then gone to watch the latest Brittany Murphy movie, _Happy Feet_…except it was only her voice in it. Still, it was hilarious.

"I don't know why Lauren still hates me so much. I mean, that whole thing at the Coffee Pot wasn't nice, I admit, but seriously," I started, creasing my brow as I looked out at Mark and his mates.

"You're kind of more popular than her. Like, sub-consciously. People like you. They respect you. There are more unpopular people than her, so in reality, you have a bigger clique."

"Clique?"

"Yeah, well, friendship circle," he corrected himself. I smiled at him, and kissed him gently on the side of his mouth. His lips moved into a smile, and obliged. I curled my arms around his neck, running my hands through his thick hair. Sighing, he reached out and pulled me to him.

Who cared about Lauren? Seriously, who cared? I had Jason.


End file.
